


A Is For Akande

by mmbop



Series: Moodfist [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Doomfist, F/M, Overwatch - Freeform, Talon - Freeform, doomfic, i havent written about him in a while but uhh guess i still got juice, ill let you know, takes place after doomfist gets out of jail, will likely contain smut at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-07 20:45:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17967755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmbop/pseuds/mmbop
Summary: On a particularly lonely night, you, Reader, end up in an interesting predicament which leads to more than you could have ever asked for.





	A Is For Akande

**Author's Note:**

> Heya, so I haven't written about overwatch/doomfist in a very long time but I was randomly inspired to write *something like this* one day. This will be a multi-chapter fic. I'm not sure where it's gonna go, but it's kinda interesting to me right now. I will be continuing the other fic(s) I started writing last year, at some point. I'm at a point where I don't remember what was supposed to be continued and what wasn't, so, stay tuned!
> 
> Also, E/C = Eye Color (your eye color)

It was 3 in the morning when a loud bang at your door jolted you out of sleep. After lying awake terrified for several minutes, you shakingly got up and opened the top drawer of your nightstand, taking out a pistol which was covered in blue cloth. You took the gun, which was custom-made for you by your lover who was currently being caged by international jailers, and quietly moved to the silent hallway outside your bedroom. Going down the stairs, you could feel your heart beat faster and harder in your chest as the stairs creaked beneath your feet. You knew every sound could compromise your safety and the thought of being caught and subsequently ran-up-on twisted your stomach into knots, your nostrils continuously flaring at the distressing situation. With a steady grip on the railing, you tip-toed into the dark living room of your lavish Turkish villa. You went to check the front door first. It was closed, locked, just like you remember leaving it, except, looking down, you could see something small and white laying in front of the door. Before reaching down to pick it up, you go to turn on the light nearby and survey the rest of the downstairs, making sure you were alone. Going back to the door, you realized that the small white thing was actually a card. Picking it up, you read the face of the card, which gave detailed instructions about going to a specific location at a specific time on a specific day. You had half a mind to call the authorities, but before doing so, flipped the card over and read the bright red "A" on its back. There was only one "A" this could be referring to, and it wasn't the antagonist of a certain teen drama.  
  
On that day, which happened to be toward the end of July, you waited alone by a pond in a park near your house. It was the middle of the night. As you expected, you were approached by someone. Moonlight allowed you to make out the silhouette of a person wearing a suit. They politely asked you to kindly follow them. You had no interest in resisting: if this person and their group meant you harm, it was going to happen whether you liked it or not, and if something good were to come of this meeting, then the risk would prove to be worthwhile.  
  
You were lead to a black car with completely tinted windows parked under a bridge. Nearby streetlights helped you see that the person before you was wearing a black suit with a red tie accented with the mark of Talon. You exhaled and the pent up anxiety and unease of the whole situation dissipated. From here on out, you chose to cooperate. You didn't know what exactly could be happening, but you knew you were safe.  
  
After what felt like an hour's drive, the car came to a stop and you waited as you heard chatter outside of the blackened windows. The door abruptly opened and your heart raced. An older man with a head full of white hair extended his hand to yours. You took it and exited the car. Stabilizing yourself on the ground, you noticed that you were in front of a large, debilitated mansion, like the kind that showed up in the old horror films you and your lover would occasionally watch. Contrary to the safety you felt earlier, you were now suspicious of your surroundings. Turning around, you noticed the old man had slipped away somewhere, and the car was also already speeding off.  
  
_Well, I don't have much of a choice, do I?_ You thought to yourself. Choice was a tricky thing in these situations. Nothing about this ordeal was your choosing, except your choice to participate in these arranged activities. It was perhaps not the smartest thing to do, being here, but you had had a lucky streak since birth and surely it wouldn't break in this moment. You took a deep breath and went to open the large, antiquated wooden door of the mansion. It loudly creaked open, likely alerting its master to your presence, if anyone else had happened to be here. You swallowed, and with a shaky voice, spoke out into the still home. "Hello?" Your call was left unanswered, and you walked further into the house, eventually reaching a dining room, where you noticed another little white card placed atop a dark cedar dining table. "My love", it began on the face of the card, "please sleep here tonight. We will be reunited soon." And on the back of the card was the same signature from before. Reading the words "my love" had sent a shiver through your entire body. You were sure this was Akande's doing, but why? Was he playing a game with you? Did he have some important use for you that he couldn't just yet reveal? And, wait, did he say he and you would "be reunited soon"? How could that be, when surely, he was locked away somewhere far from here, a watchful eye kept on him in the most secure prison in the world. Could he have...escaped?  
  
All of these questions and more raced through both your head and your heart at the same time, and you promptly placed the card face down on the table, the bold red A staring back at you. Standing dazed in the center of the grand dining room, you resolved to find the master bedroom, where you would wait until morning. It was best not to lurk about the large house, who knew what secrets it held? And it was best not to try to go back to sleep, for obvious reasons.  
  
After a careful trip up a large set of creaky old spiraling stairs in the center of the first corridor, you found the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Its walls were dark red and patterned with stains and dirt as if they hadn't been washed in ages. Dust covered a large wooden bookshelf that sat on a wall adjacent to the bed, which was accented only by dingy white sheets. _And I'm supposed to sleep here?_ You asked yourself. Curious, you opened a door inside the bedroom expecting to find a closet, and instead were met with a bathroom. You flicked the light on to reveal a room characterized by decay and quickly shut the light back off, closing the door.  
  
You went to sit on a wooden chair at a desk in the corner of the room and resolved to sleep there. It was by far the cleanest thing you could find as its seat maintained very little dust, tucked underneath the wooden desk. Sitting down, your curiosity moved you again, and you began to open a set of drawers that were attached to the desk. In one of them, you found a large black book. Taking it from its place in the drawer and placing it atop the desk, a cloud of dust rose, causing you to sneeze erratically. When the sneezing finally ceased, you dusted off the book and opened it, and to your excitement realized that it was actually someone’s personal diary. The diary detailed the life of a young woman who had presumably previously lived in this mansion. The young woman was at one time wedded to a wealthy banker, who had died after only six years of marriage. He was murdered by thieves during a robbery of the mansion. Reading the stories, you felt yourself start to drift off, but insisted on staying awake, at least until this situation produced some new development.

When you woke, it took you some moments before realizing that you were no longer sitting at the desk, book in hand. Instead, you were lying in the dingy old bed, sunlight pouring into the room through tears in the curtains of the windows. You also noticed that you did not feel your familiar solitude and loneliness; the longing for the warmth of another body against yours was something you felt every day unless you could forget. But today was different. Today, you felt that warmth, and it was not the sun.

You turned over in the bed to see him, and as soon as you jumped up, like a cat startled by a sudden loud noise, the tears started to fall. He opened his eyes and quickly went to hold you, though you resisted. Something inside you said to resist. But you gave up eventually, your arms falling limp as a rush of memories and sorrows and love and laughter and heartbeats and breathing and kisses returned to you. You were reunited.

Many people can relate to the feeling of separation from something or someone you love. It is akin to grieving a death, but it is not the same. To know that the person you love the most is alive, somewhere far away, away from you, doing God knows what, and never returning again, was enough to drive you mad. If it were not for your lover’s covert connections with the outside world while he was imprisoned, you would have felt the full extent of this separation, and for years.

He shifted so that he was holding you more comfortably. You put your face against his chest which was clothed by a plain white t-shirt. “I was mad. I was so mad.” You said with choked words, hardly able to speak, letting his shirt dry your tears. “I know, I know. It’s okay.” He reassured you. His voice was soft, soothing. He massaged your back with the palm of his hand as your head rested against his shoulder, which was almost the size of your head. “It’s okay.” He said again, after the room fell quiet with the exception of the occasional sniffle. You wiped the tears with the palm of your hand and tried to smile. He cupped that cute little face of yours, that he always loved, with both of his huge hands, angling your face to his so that he could see into both of those beautiful (E/C) eyes. This was the sight he’d rather see more than anything, and he wasn’t going to rot in prison without seeing it at least one more time.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is (should be) part of my Moodfist series.  
> The next chapter will explain how/why this situation was set up the way it was.


End file.
